


Fixed Point

by SunsetOfDoom



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2850140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunsetOfDoom/pseuds/SunsetOfDoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marshall Catrina LaMort is everyone's fixed point. But even she breaks sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixed Point

**Author's Note:**

> Pacific Rim fusion time! This is in the same universe as "There Are Things You Can't Fight", and once I get Ao3 figured out all the way I'll link them somehow. Until then: this is a Christmas present to chokopoppo.tumblr.com. Merry Christmas doll!

The Marshall’s office, in grand Shatterdome tradition, was the draftiest, wettest, most unpleasant room in the compound.

Manolo had heard numerous stories about why: that it was a prank first played on Marshall D’Onofrio, tricked into setting up his desk in the dingy basement, that continued into infamy; a symptom of the Jaeger program’s trademark issues with authority; or that it was meant to keep the Marshalls from lingering on paperwork, a subtle reminder that their Rangers were worth more attention than their field reports.

Whatever the reason for it, Marshall LaMort’s office was a grungy space with a single window, the size, atmosphere, and combined mess of six claustrophobic broom closets.

Manolo crept along the hallway, hating the echo of his steps through thick metal; nobody in the Dome would appreciate being woken up at the crack of dawn.

He didn't appreciate being up at the crack of dawn, either, but somebody had to get their Conn-Pod specifications into Engineering before the next shift, and it wasn't going to be either of his hungover friends.

Her door was mostly closed; which, had he not been exhausted, would have been his first clue. The Marshall almost never closed her door, seeing as she didn't give a damn about clearance or confidentiality ("if a bastard's going to read through those files, he's got more patience than I have", were her words).

He put one hand on the frame, intending to knock, when he heard soft speech in strangely-accented Spanish; and, hungry for the sound of his first language, he stopped to listen.

“ _I don’t know what I could have done-_ ”

It was the Marshall. Her smooth, conversational English oftentimes convinced people it was the only language she knew, but Manolo had read up on her history, knew she came from Spain. It certainly explained the accent; he had heard her speak in Spanish only once before, and she had been so all-fired angry, speaking so fast in her Castilian-wrought speech, that he had hardly been able to understand a word.

“ _Mi amor._ ” The other voice was instantly recognizable, and Manolo jumped. The head engineer, Xibalba- his last name, no one knew his first- was renown as being unpleasant and short-tempered. They’d have been ousted from the program altogether, had it been up to the engineer designing their three-way Pons system.

“ _You can’t blame yourself_.” 

Manolo drew in a breath; the day before, two possible pilots- a brother and sister from Canada- had been tested in Chrome Brutus. Something had gone wrong in their Drift, and the young man was in the hospital after a seizure. 

“ _But I do.”_

_And the Marshall was the one who had pushed for them to do the test. He swallowed hard, backing away. He could take being yelled at for not getting the prints in. This dark grief from their strong, sweet Marshall made his stomach turn uncomfortably._

_The angle from the almost-closed door was just enough to see the tallest, strongest woman he’d ever met, shaking in the arms of her ex-husband._

_He slid the papers under the door, and was gone. F_


End file.
